


Sublimation

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dream Sex, Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Ben dreams the thing he wants the most.





	Sublimation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thymesis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/gifts).



Sometimes, at night, Ben has dreams that aren't like other dreams. They've been there for years, frequently enough that they don't take him by surprise by now but infrequently enough that they're still eagerly anticipated. They've made him look forward to sleep each night, when all the others stay up later and think he's odd for all the relatively early nights he takes. At the very least, even if the dreams don't come nightly, even if he can't predict them, not accurately and not at all, it means he's usually well-rested. 

In his dreams, sometimes he's in a place he finds familiar, and sometimes it's a place he's never been to, with a name he doesn't know. Sometimes it's his own room at the temple and sometimes he's standing outside a ship that's not his under a bright purple sky he's never seen before. He's seen caves and cities and mountains, and swirling, raging rivers. He's seen frozen seas and empty deserts and rooms in which it feels like he's been sealed away from all the galaxy, so quiet that the only sound's his breath and his own heartbeat, and someone else's, too. It's unpredictable, but that's not something he minds. He's been so many places without ever really going to them. It feels real, and so he feels well-travelled. He feels experienced. 

The one constant in his dreams, besides himself, is Luke. Luke is there when he arrives, when he opens his eyes on the world that he's dreaming. Luke waits for him there. 

Ben would like to say it wasn't always about sex, but it has always been about sex. It's been that way since the first time, since the first dream, since he was seventeen years old and maybe, just maybe, starting fights with his classmates out of a pathetic kind of sexual frustration. At the time, he liked to think of them as challenges instead of fights, but they were fights. Sometimes he won, sometimes he didn't, but he always ended bloodied. He liked to think it helped. 

The first time, it took him by surprise. He'd gone to bed with a bloody split in his bottom lip and a cheekbone bruised in the shape of someone else's fist, and the second he closed his eyes, he opened them again. He was in his own room, in his own bed, except he knew with absolute clarity that he was dreaming it and not seeing it. Everything was the same but different, everything in its place but not. And Luke was there, standing in the doorway. He was backlit, his face dark, but he knew it was him. He'd spent enough time watching. 

He was dreaming, so what he did made sense. When he turned back the sheets and then stood, Luke watched him from the doorway. When he peeled off his shirt, Luke watched him do that, too. Luke didn't move as Ben rested his forehead down against his. But when Ben moved, when he cupped Luke's cheeks in his hands and pressed his mouth to his, because he could, because he was dreaming, Luke came alive; Luke put his hands on him; Luke touched him. 

When he woke the next morning, he remembered. What he'd dreamed had been vivid, almost real, like a facsimile of the world but with all its sensations intact. He'd felt Luke's fingers brush against the line of his bare back, Luke's mouth at his jaw, Luke's beard tickling against his skin. He'd felt Luke's synthskin fingers push underneath the waistband of his pants and wrap hesitantly around the girth of his stiffening cock. He'd felt the hot thrill of having the thing he'd always wanted the most, and the gnawing void that was knowing what he had wasn't real. And Luke, when he saw him at breakfast, when he saw him for training, the _real_ Luke, had no idea at all. 

He dreamed him again a few weeks later, while Luke was away from the temple. He dreamed he was there with him, on another planet, closing his eyes in his room and opening them onto a terrace in the low light of a sun that never fully set. Luke was barefoot on the tiled floor in a breeze that smelled like the salt blowing in off the sea outside, and when Ben went to him, his skin tasted of it, too. Every inch of him did, where Ben's mouth touched him as he stripped him of his clothes, and in the morning he remembered the seasalt breeze against his own skin, too, as Luke pressed him down against the bed, as Luke put his mouth on him. 

He dreamed him again the next month, and they were on a transport ship in hyperspace, Ben's back to a bulkhead and Luke's mouth pressed urgently against his throat, as his cock ached, as his pulse raced. He dreamed him again the next month, in the room in the house his mother no longer owned, in the bed where he'd used to sleep, kneeling on the mattress while Luke stroked his cock and made him gasp and made him come. He dreamed him again, in an ice cave wrapped in furs, in a city apartment that towered high above the streets, in a house with white domed roofs where the desert sand got in and blew in waves across the floors, right up to the bedroom door. Luke pressed his mouth to Ben's wrists in the unmade bed there, to his collarbones, his thighs, his chest, the hard curve of his cock, and he kissed away the taste of air scorched by twin suns. 

He's been having the dreams for years now, unpredictably, maybe two nights in a row and then not a trace for two whole months or more. He's been having the dreams for years now; he knows the hot-cold feel of Luke's hands on his skin and the weight of his body pressing down over him, the weight of his cock in his hand, the taste of it against his tongue. He knows Luke's fingers pressing into him. He knows the flush in his cheeks as Luke enters him. The fights stopped, no more bloody noses, no more bloody lips or bruises like a fist, until two months without a single dream became three, then four, then five. He argued. He fought. More often than not, he won, but he always looked forward to sleep. 

Last night, he dreamed. Luke was in his doorway as he closed his eyes and opened them into the room that was his but still nowhere in the waking world. Luke was there and Ben threw back the sheets and he dragged him down, he pressed him down on his back in his bed, grazed his neck with his teeth, wrapped his hand around his cock with Luke's fingers pulled tight in his hair. Ben straddled Luke's hips and he rode him hard, his hands spread out over Luke's bare chest. Luke gripped his hips, his eyes on his. Ben's muscles strained. Luke came. Ben followed. 

"I wish the real you wanted this," Ben said when they were done, offhand, wiping his hands on his thighs still sitting there with Luke pushed up inside him. 

Luke looked at him sharply; Luke frowned; Luke clenched his jaw. 

"I thought you understood," Luke said. "Do you think this is a dream?" 

One blink of an eye and Ben woke alone, and Luke was gone, and he shivered cold. Finally, Ben understood. Finally, Ben understands. 

Tonight, he's not dreaming. Tonight, he's standing in Luke's room. 

"I can't," Luke says as Ben goes down on his knees. His voice is torn and desperate in the dark, but the telling part is that he doesn't try to stop him. He runs his fingers through Ben's hair instead. 

Sometimes, Ben has dreams that aren't like all the others. He's been having them for years, and now he knows Luke has them, too. They're not dreams, not really, and what Ben can't understand is how Luke thinks that's somehow more acceptable, as if the sublimation of his desire into the dreaming world is good or right or pure. It's not. It's always been as dark and raw as it is right now. 

It won't be the same in the morning, Ben thinks. One way or the other, things will change. 

He hopes it won't, but all things end. And for once in his life, he will have the thing he wants the most.


End file.
